


A World Alone

by chateau



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Drug Use, Hospitals, Insomnia, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Songfic, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 18:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 18,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chateau/pseuds/chateau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We both got a million bad habits to kick. Not sleeping is one."<br/>-<br/>Loosely based off of "A World Alone" by Lorde</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. un

**Author's Note:**

> For clarification, Tyler is 18 and Josh is 20 in this fic. There will also be a song that goes with every chapter and I highly encourage you to listen. It honestly changes the whole experience.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Sunday Morning, at a Funeral - La Dispute

_**(start song)** _ ****

 

He wanders down the empty street, wondering who else might be awake, _why_ they might be awake at this hour. Few cars drive along the store lined highway, their headlights reflecting off shallow puddles and spills of gasoline.

It's almost three in the morning and Josh can't sleep, per usual. Every time he tries to sleep his racing thoughts keep him awake. Driving him to insanity.

Rendering him absolutely numb.

Demanding something, _anything_ , to make him feel.

He always ends up on this street, the same street he can see from the top of the hill his house is on. He can hear cars passing by when he lays in bed awake.

_His heart rate is increasing. He sits up in bed and puts his head in his hands. Nothing feels real, his mind is screaming at him. An invisible force is wrapping itself around his fragile body and constricting around his throat. Leaving him wide-eyed and breathless. Short bitten nails scrape up and down his arms, across his face, and through his hair. The stinging sensation brings him back down to earth and reminds him he is real. The numbness subsides for the night, but he is wide awake now._

A cold breeze bites at his ears and he shivers, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes, another one of his many bad habits.

"Shit," he whispers to himself when he realizes he left his lighter at home. Looking up, he sees a convenience store at the end of the road. Luckily, he brought his wallet.

The bright streetlights and the red blinking "OPEN" sign contrast with the dark sky. He is the only one at the small store, which puts him at ease.

The door dings when he opens it, signifying that a customer has arrived. Keeping his head down, he wanders to the back and grabs a redbull. It's not like he'd sleep anyway. Then, he walks back up to the front of the store and places it on the counter along with a couple of bic lighters.

"Would this be all for you, sir?" a high male voice asks. Only then does he look up, and he's caught off guard when he sees the cashier. He looks to be a couple of years younger than Josh, almost too young to be behind the cigarette counter. He, too, has matching tired eyes.

"Yeah," Josh replies. His own voice sounds foreign. He hasn't spoken to anyone in a few days, not that he minds.

"That'd be $4.58," the same voice speaks. Josh retrieves his wallet from his pocket and hands the cashier a $5. He glances down to the boy's name tag. It reads "Tyler." He then makes eye contact with the boy, whose name he now knows, and he is handing him back his two cents.

"A redbull? At three in the morning?" The boy questions.

Josh gives a half-hearted laugh, "I don't see a point in trying to sleep."

Tyler looks at him with a sliver of sympathy and something else he can't describe, then replies, "me too, man. that's why I started working the night shift."

At that, Josh takes his sugary drink and stuffs the lighters in his pocket. "See you around, Tyler."

Tyler smiles at him, "you too..."

"My name's Josh," the other boy informs him, before smiling back.

"Josh," Tyler repeats his name. As if he's testing it out.

Josh leaves the convenience store at the end of the road. He thinks that it's safe to say he can feel tonight.

 


	2. deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Riot Van - Arctic Monkeys

Working the night shift is agonizingly slow, not to mention he works at a convenience store. Everything seems to move slower after the sun sets.

Tyler watches with his tired eyes as few customers come in and out of the store. They were mostly teenagers with nothing better to do or slightly questionable people. Like he said, he works the night shift.

Now,  _ why _ would someone voluntarily work the night shift? Tyler can't sleep. He sometimes goes a week without any sort of rest. You could say it was because of all the energy drinks he consumes, but he will argue that he'd be awake anyway. You see, it's not that the brunette is  _ unable _ to sleep, it's that he doesn't  _ want _ to. And for good reason, at that.

Taking a sip of his redbull, he absentmindedly scrolls through various social media accounts, seeing people out at parties. Getting drunk and high. Instead, Tyler is sitting at his boring, low pay job. Honestly, he'd rather be doing anything besides this, but he isn't the type of person to hang out at parties. Large, intoxicated crowds of people aren't really his thing. People in general aren't really his thing.

_ Ding _ , the door of the store opens and Tyler looks up, fumbling to stuff his phone back in his pocket, barely making an effort to sit up straight. Three giggling girls stumble in, adorned in short skirts and stilettos. They were obviously under the influence of alcohol, or maybe drugs. Probably stopping in on their way home from a party. One of them catches sight of Tyler and winks at him. Tyler simply blinks back and takes his phone out. This wasn't new to him.

He hears their broken conversations about a party and some guy named Brendon.  _ So Tyler was right about the party. _ Then they eventually come back up to the front of the store, where Tyler is perched on a stool behind the counter. They end up getting a couple bottles of water, a twix bar, and a bottle of advil. At least they're thinking coherently enough to remember that they will all be suffering in the morning. That advil will be needed.

"$8.98," Tyler simply states. One of them fumbles around in their wallet for a few minutes before handing Tyler two $5 bills.

"Keep the change, hun," she slurs, and Tyler puts the two bills into the cash register. He looks up and the three girls are stumbling back out of the convenience store. The door chimes.

The door doesn't chime again until it's almost three in the morning. Tyler glances up and sees a male this time. His hood is pulled over his head and he walks with his head down to the back of the store. Grabbing a redbull, the man trudges his way back towards Tyler. He tosses two lighters on the counter along with a can of redbull.

"Would this be all for you sir?" Tyler asks politely. The other man looks up for the first time and his eyes widen, shifting so that his posture doesn't look so tired. He certainly isn't bad looking. Even though he's sporting eye bags and stubble, he somehow makes it look attractive.

"Yeah," Tyler finally hears his voice. It sounds sleepy and gravelly, matching his appearance. Now that Tyler has the chance to look at him better, he notices he has faded red hair, gauges, and a nose ring. He would normally roll his eyes at the typical accessories for someone coming to this convenience store at this time of night, but instead, a blush dusts over his cheeks. He hopes the handsome customer doesn't notice.

"That'd be $4.58," Tyler almost stutters. He watches as the customer retrieves a $5 from his wallet and sees his eyes dart down to his name tag. They make eye contact for a split second and Tyler suddenly gets a spark of confidence.

"A redbull? At three in the morning?" Tyler asks, but realizes he was drinking one only twenty minutes ago.

The red head laughs, and replies, "I don't see a point in trying to sleep."

Tyler silently agrees. "Me too man, that's why I started working the night shift," he says.

The brunette gets to hear that laugh again, and he says, "see you around, Tyler."

Tyler blushes again, god  _ damnit _ .

"You too..." He realizes he doesn't know the customer's name.

"My name's Josh," It was like he read Tyler's mind.

"Josh," He breathes out, and watches as Josh walks back out of the convenience store. Tyler is alone, once again. 


	3. trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Transatlanticism - Death Cab For Cutie

_**(start song)** _

 

The crisp autumn air burns Tyler’s throat and exposed fingertips. He is sat on the edge of the small balcony connected to his room, legs dangling over the edge. Only thirty feet separated him and the damp forest floor below. Sometimes he thinks to himself how easy it would be just to let go. Allow his weight to send him plunging to the hard ground. And no, he doesn't want to do such a thing. Not now at least. But he lets his mind wander to thoughts like these on long nights where he doesn't have to work.

Work. He hasn't been to work in two days and he doesn't have to go back until tomorrow night. It was two nights ago when he was first graced by the presence of a certain red headed man. A mysterious man named Josh.

That name had been floating around in his head for all of these two lonely nights. Along with a pair of dark chocolate tired eyes and a nose ring. Tyler so desperately wants to see Josh again. Something about him is so intriguing, as if he holds deep secrets and stories that he could tell for hours on end. Tyler wants to hear them all.

Nobody quite like Josh has entered the convenience store at the end of the street before. Tyler has never felt like this about a person before, not to mention it happened so quickly.

He hears the clock chime from somewhere in his house. Five a.m. Tyler looks off through the trees onto the glowing horizon where the start of a new day begins.

-

It was safe to say that Josh isn't getting better. Another two semi-sleepless nights have passed, filled with stubbed out cigarettes and a crackly old record player in the corner of his room.

The first night was spent quietly in his cold empty room. Counting the glow in the dark plastic stars he taped to his ceiling when he was younger. Back when everything was simpler. When the only worry he had was if he would miss the ice cream truck driving by his house on hot summer days.

At some point, Josh fell asleep. He was grateful that he did but he knew it wouldn't last. He was right. Three and a half hours later his eyes were open. It had gotten colder and somehow his head had ended up at the foot of his bed with feet resting on his pillow. He fumbled around for his phone. Once he found it, the clock on it illuminated the time. 4:57 a.m. It was no use trying to fall back asleep now.

He swung his feet onto the wooden floor, shivering at the contact. From a few feet away he could see his reflection in the mirror. His hair was sticking up in every direction imaginable, and it wouldn't hurt to be washed soon. The soft glow of a light casted onto his face, made by his alarm clock that never displayed the right time. He could make out his eye bags and hollow cheeks, which reminded him to eat something the next chance he got.

Quietly, Josh walked over to his bedroom door. It creaked when he opened it ever so slightly, and he hoped it didn’t wake anyone. He slipped through the cracked door and tip-toed into the kitchen. His eyes scanned the minuscule amount of food left and settled on some waffle crisp. His bowl of cereal, unfortunately, couldn't be accompanied by milk, so he takes the bowl back to his room to be eaten. There was about three more long hours before anyone else in the house would be stirring.

The rest of that day was spent doing anything he could to help his mother around the house. She deserved it, as she worked two jobs during the week, and Josh didn't currently have a job to be at. His mother reminds him to go look for one later.

“Are you making any friends, Josh?” She asks. She's always worried about him and he hates it. Which is why he tends to keep to himself.

“Nope,” he replies simply. But his mind flickers to the boy working behind the counter at the convenience store at the end of the road. He thought about telling his mom about Tyler but decided against it. It wasn't like he'd be seeing Tyler again.

His mother glanced at Josh with a sympathetic expression before going back to cleaning.

The next night was spent completely sleepless for Josh. He took a shower and felt the slightest bit better, but his mind was still racing. Looking in the mirror, he noticed that his hair was very faded. Once a vibrant red, it was now an ugly orange-pink color. That's how Josh ended up sitting in the bathroom for another hour, redying his hair.

Once his hair was back to its normal firey red, Josh went back to his room. He decided to put on some music, one of his favorite albums, _Transatlanticism_ By Death Cab For Cutie. He had grown up listening to this band, specifically this album. Music keeps him grounded, it was another way to make him _feel_ when he was numb.

Josh softly hummed along to the songs as he scrolled through his phone, which at this point was almost useless to him. The only people he talks to are his mom and rarely a few acquaintances from high school. After Josh graduated he distanced himself from everyone he knew. He thought the only way to keep from getting attached to people was to isolate himself from them. Which worked for the most part, but being alone for these two years, as Josh had learned, comes with its downsides. He had made himself believe that this would be worth it, he had learned his lesson by now. _Don't get attached._ That phrase circulates around his head every day.


	4. quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: 1914 - Florist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight trigger warning for this chapter, but as always, if you are triggered by anything mentioned in the tags, please don't read.

_**(start song)** _

 

Tyler sits in his room all day, not even attempting to nap. The day drones on and the only reason he leaves the unsettling comfort of his room is to eat or go to the bathroom. For thirteen hours he had been circulating between scrolling absentmindedly on his phone, sitting and thinking, or writing and playing music.

Music was such a big part of Tyler’s life. He _literally_ wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for the music he has created. The ukulele and the old upright piano in his room are his prized possessions, paid for by himself with every penny he worked through the night to earn. Every emotion the sad boy could muster is taken out in the form of song lyrics on paper, then transferred onto those two instruments. He would only sing if he was completely sure that nobody could hear him, as he is insecure about his voice, and what his voice could say. Some people might call Tyler’s lyrics depressing, but those lyrics mean everything to him. What he is unable to tell people, he forms into poems hidden behind beautiful melodies.

Six-thirty p.m. rolls around and Tyler realizes that he hasn't showered, so he stretches out his aching limbs and stands up. As soon as he does, his vision goes momentarily blurry and his legs feel weak from dehydration, so he carefully saunters his way toward his closed and locked door. Water. He needs water so he doesn't risk actually passing out. Opening the door leads to Tyler hearing yelling between his parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Listening closer, he could hear that they were probably arguing about him.

“Kelly, I told you this was a bad idea! We should've never let him make his own decisions. Now he never comes out of his room. He's probably getting a new fucked up mental illness every day! You honestly think playing that stupid piano is going to get him anywhere in life?” His father argues.

“Chris!” His mother gasps. Even Tyler is shocked at his father’s words, still listening from the top of the staircase. _It's not like he's wrong. You're never going to make it on your own. Pathetic,_ Tyler thinks to himself. He blinks back tears as he abandons his plans of getting some water, and stumbles into the bathroom.

Tyler looks in the mirror and all he could see was _failure._ He runs a hand through his hair and takes off his tee shirt and shorts, frowning when he sees the result of his terrible habits. He doesn't sleep, hardly eats, and the chronic feeling of emptiness is practically eating him alive. His frail, almost lifeless form could float away so easily if hit with the right gust of wind.

“What have I become? I'm sorry,” he whispers to himself, staring at his hollow eyes, protruding bones, and horizontal white and pink lines decorating his thighs. After closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath, Tyler steps into his shower, turning it onto the hottest setting. The heat of the water does nothing for his cold, hollow mind. It cascades down his body, washing the metaphorical blood of himself off his hands.

Once his shower is finished, he gets dressed in black jeans, a black tank top, and red vans, then clips his name tag onto his shirt. He grabs his phone and heads downstairs, where his father is sat at the kitchen table. He has a beer in his hand and a slightly annoyed look on his face. Tyler avoids making eye contact with him for fear of getting yelled at, so he swiftly grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and mumbles a goodbye.

“You know, this wouldn't be happening if you had just taken that basketball scholarship when you had the chance,” a voice behind him slurs.

Tyler sighs before replying in the calmest way possible, “Dad, I told you that I'm not interested in playing basketball anymore. Music is what I like.” He turns on his heel and walks out the front door. The cold air reminds him that he forgot to grab a jacket on his way out, so he opens the front door again and quickly runs to his room, puts on the first jacket he sees, then runs back out of the house, managing to avoid communication with the intoxicated man sitting alone in the kitchen. _It shouldn't have to be like this. Maybe my dad is right._ Tyler pushes his thoughts away and starts walking.

The small store wasn't very far from his house, so he prefers to walk there. On the way, he thinks about Josh. Would he ever come back to the store? Maybe he'd come back tonight, but Tyler would much rather him be sleeping. He knows how it feels to be without rest. But still, Tyler wants to see Josh again.

He arrives at the convenience store five minutes late, thanks to his dad, who feels the need to start an argument with anyone in sight. Thankfully, his manager isn't there, only the other girl who worked the store during the day. Her name was Jenna, and Tyler considers her to be his closest friend, his only friend really. She has blonde and blue hair cut to her shoulders and kind eyes, the kind that makes you feel like you're wrapped in a soft blanket when she looks at you.

“Oh! Tyler, there you are,” she starts, “Gosh, aren't you cold? It's freezing out there.”

“A little bit, but I've gotten used to it,” Tyler shrugs, clocking in to signify that he actually showed up for work. Jenna puts on her jacket and gathers her purse before clocking herself out. She waves Tyler goodbye and steps out into the cold air.

Tyler’s shift each week night starts at seven at night and ends at three in the morning. During that time, he restocks shelves and cashiers. It's probably one of the easiest but most boring jobs out there. Some customers make it more entertaining, like the usual stoners stopping in to cure their munchies and _Josh_ . Monday nights are usually the slowest, as no parties usually take place and people don't have any reason to come to the store. An hour passes and only one customer has come in. Tyler sighs. _This is going to be a long night,_ he thinks to himself, and gets up to begin organizing shelves of junk food.

-

Josh is hungry. Very hungry, as the only thing he had eaten all day was the last of a box of waffle crisp and a diet coke. He stands up and blinks, clearing his vision, and remembers that he's out of food.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbles to himself, not even bothering to change into normal clothes and putting his shoes, a snapback to hide his messy hair, and a sweatshirt on. Grabbing his phone, wallet, and car keys, he quietly exits his room and checks to make sure his mom is asleep. It's almost 2:30 a.m., and unlike Josh, she goes to sleep at a normal human being time. Seeing that she's completely passed out, he sneaks out the back door and gets in his car. Now his car isn't the nicest, but he loves it nonetheless. It's old, the hubcaps are missing, and it smells of cigarette smoke and pizza. He thinks about getting pizza again, but decides against it because honestly, he's tired of it. Instead, he starts the engine and lights up a cigarette, pulling out of his driveway before heading towards the convenience store at the end of the road. He waits until he's a safe enough distance from his house before turning on his radio, the blaring music drastically contrasting with the quiet of the night.

A few minutes later he pulls into the parking lot of the store, red lit up “OPEN” sign flashing. He takes one last drag of the cigarette before tossing it on the ground and crushing it under his boot. Once the door, covered in advertisements, is out of his way, he can see the same brunette boy working behind the counter. The _ding_ noise that the door makes every time it's opened snaps Tyler out of whatever daze he was in, and he looks towards the exact person he was hoping he'd see all night. Tyler smiles, and Josh smiles back and waves at him. Once again, he goes to the back of the store where the drinks are stored and grabs a redbull, then heads toward the isles of junk food and chooses a box of coco puffs, a bag of chips, and a granola bar. Not the healthiest options, but they will have to do for a couple days.

Tyler is sitting on the stool behind the counter, eyes glued to his phone.

“Long time no see,” Josh says, looking at Tyler with a soft smirk on his face. Tyler looks up from his phone and stuffs it in his pocket, a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Y-yeah, hi Josh. Didn't think you'd come back this soon,” he says, taking Josh's food and energy drink and scanning them.

Josh takes in Tyler’s appearance. Loose fitting tank top hanging off of his shoulders, super skinny jeans, soft looking brunette hair. He will admit, Tyler looked cute. Josh shakes his head and squeezes his eyes closed, as if doing that would somehow push his budding attraction towards the other boy away.

“Something wrong?” Tyler asks, brown eyes staring up into Josh's.

The redhead shakes his head again, “I'm fine,” he insists. Tyler places the food and can into a bag and sets it on the counter between them.

“$8.20 is your total,” Tyler states. Josh takes a ten dollar bill from his wallet and hands it to Tyler, who places it in the cash register and hands back change. The receipt prints and the cashier scribbles something on it before stuffing it in the bag with Josh's food.

“Thanks,” Josh mumbles, “So do you have to work the night shift every night?” He asks.

“Only on week nights. What about you? Do you have a job?” Tyler tries starting a conversation with the other man, preventing him from leaving so soon.

“Not at the moment, I'm looking for one, though,” he sighs, taking his plastic bag off of the counter.

Tyler pouts, “You could work here with me!”

Josh lets out a weak laugh, before replying, “Nah, you'd be too distracting.” He winks at the other boy.

Tyler’s blush returns and he glances at the digital clock at the back of the store. “That reminds me,” he starts, “I get off work in ten minutes. S’been a slow night for sure.”

Josh hums in agreement. “Get some sleep, darlin,” He replies, before starting towards the door again. Once he’s sheltered in the warmth of his car, he opens up the bag of chips, taking a handful and shoving them in his mouth. Then he remembers the receipt, digging to the bottom of the bag to retrieve it. Written at the bottom is a ten digit number.


	5. cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Spiderhead - Cage The Elephant

_**(start song)** _

 

“Oh, shit,” Josh whispers to himself, stuffing the receipt back into the bag and turning the key to his car. Once again, his music is at deafening volumes but he still turns it up higher, hoping to drown out some of his thoughts. Tyler had given Josh his number. Tyler _likes_ Josh. Josh doesn't like the brunette that way, or so he tells himself. His mind is shouting at him, louder than his blaring music, the phrase he practically lives by.

_Don't get attached. Don't get attached. Don't get attached._

As he drives, he lights up another cigarette, the nicotine suppresses his thoughts but it's not enough. Tyler _couldn't_ like Josh, not in that way at least. Love isn't worth the risk of getting hurt or hurting others. Josh has been through it, and he'd like to say that he's immune to any affectionate emotion towards other people by now. Like there is armor encasing his heart. Any person who tries to form a bond with Josh, he pushes away. Thinking that it'll be worth it in the end.

Josh pulls into his driveway, seeing that a light in the kitchen is on through the window. He sighs to himself when he realizes that he now has to climb into his window to avoid his mother. It's not that she doesn't allow him to go places at night, she just worries about him, something Josh hates. Which, again, is why he keeps to himself. He's twenty years old, he should be able to do what he pleases without approval from his mom.

He steps out of his car and walks to the side of the house where his window is located. Thankfully, his room is on the bottom floor. He slides the window up and climbs in, hitting his head in the process. He tosses the food he bought to the side of his bed, not hungry anymore, and opens the drawer in his bedside table. Fumbling around for a bit, he finds what he's looking for. A small box with his weed in it, and a glass pipe with an alien on it. He's had it since he was 13, when he first started smoking. Back then he had friends to smoke with, it would be fun and the only time Josh would come out of his shell. Now he's older and without friends. Always inside his shell of the person he used to be. He doesn't mind.

After he packs the bowl, he grabs his lighter and takes the first hit. He inhales the smoke and holds it in his lungs for as long as he can before exhaling. The smoke billowing up in wisps before disappearing into thin air. Four hits later he's starting to feel the effects from the drug. All thoughts of Tyler pushed away, all thoughts of _anything_ important are out of his mind. He's relaxed, sitting on his bed alone with hooded eyes and a dopey smile on his face.

After he finishes the bowl, Josh glances over and remembers music. The only thing that could make this night better. He stands up on shaky legs and stumbles over to his record player, but the bag of food previously tossed to the side catches his eye. Completely abandoning his plans of listening to music, he stumbles back over and grabs the bag of pure empty calories. _Perfect_ , he thinks to himself, and laughs like an idiot while opening the box of coco puffs, stuffing his mouth with them. Setting the box back on his bed, he also takes the previously opened bag of chips and eats those too.

He flops back onto his pillow and before he knows what he's doing, he grabs the crumpled up receipt from the bag too, and types the number into a new message.

**_Josh Dun:_ **

**_heeyyyy_ **

****Sent at 3:52 a.m.

He frowns when there is not an immediate response, and tosses his phone somewhere onto his desk, to be forgotten until morning. For the rest of the night, Josh still lays on his bed, eating junk food and laughing at himself. Eventually, he falls asleep, phone buzzing from the other side of the room, but Josh has no idea.


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Close Your Eyes and Count to Ten - Grouplove

_**(wait to start song)** _

 

Josh wakes the next morning, or afternoon rather, with the sun beaming through his window onto him, black shorts hot against his skin. He rolls onto his back and stretches his arms above his head, then opens his eyes, squinting from the brightness. The first thing he does when he stands up is find his phone, abandoned from the night before, tossed on his desk. Grabbing the device, he instantly flops back into bed and presses the button to illuminate the screen.

 

His eyes widen when he sees two texts from an unknown number, events from last night flooding his brain.

 

_**Unknown Number:** _

**_is this josh? what's up?_ **

Sent at 4:32 am.

 

**_Unknown Number:_ **

**_you're probably asleep. good night._ **

Sent at 5:15 am.

 

Josh sighs, regret evident. He locks his phone and tries to forget about the texts. The pounding headache he has was probably due to his late night depression meals of cereal and chips, so he goes over to his bathroom in the search of ibuprofen. He stares at the bottles of pills on the shelf, trying to shake off the thoughts in the back of his mind telling him to _just take them all, then you’ll never have a headache again._ Josh swallows three of the little orange pills with some lukewarm water from the tap, cringing both at the taste and the fact that he can see very clearly in the mirror that his eyes are sporting some dark circles.

 

Sparking up the last cigarette in the carton, he throws on a random shirt from the pile on his floor, this one being an _X-Files_ tee from high school that reads “I want to believe” in all caps. Then he hears a knock at his bedroom door.

 

“Yeah?” He asks, exhaling smoke towards the ceiling of his room.

 

His mom cracks the door and pokes her head in, “I’m surprised you’re up this early,” she says, sarcastically. Josh glances at the clock, which reads 1:34 p.m.  

 

“Ha ha, you’re funny,” he shoots back with a smirk, taking another drag of his cigarette.

 

“You know I don’t like you smoking those, let alone inside the house. They’re gonna kill you one day,” his mother’s gentle voice sighs. Josh wants to end the conversation immediately.

 

 _I smoke precisely because of that reason,_ he thinks to himself, but instead he shrugs and gives the same excuse as always. “I’m trying to quit.” His mom shuts the door with another sigh and a sympathetic look.  

-

_**(start song)** _

 

Tyler opens his messages for the third time that day, his texts to Josh still show that they have been delivered but not read. He opens his contacts and decides to call Jenna. The phone rings a few times before her honey voice is heard on the other end.

 

“Hello?”

 

“I think Josh texted me,” Tyler states simply, his legs are swinging lazily off the edge of his balcony and a cup of tea is keeping his hands warm. He likes to tell Jenna everything, which includes the fact that he spontaneously gave a boy his number. He trusts her with everything and she does the same for him. She has been the only sense of consistency in his life since he graduated high school.

 

“Oh! What did he say? Did you text him back?” She inquires.

 

Tyler puts her on speaker phone to look at the short conversation in his messages. “Well, first of all, I said I _think_ Josh texted me. It’s the area code for Columbus but the text didn’t say anything along the lines of ‘this is Josh from the convenience store,’” he starts. “The text is from like, four a.m., and it says ‘hey,’ but with...two Es and four Ys.”

 

“Oddly specific, but go on,” Jenna adds.

 

“I did reply. I asked if this is Josh and ‘what's up.’ I didn’t get a response so I sent another text saying ‘You’re probably asleep. Good night.’” Tyler says, taking a sip from the mug in his hand.

 

“Hopefully he texts you back soon. I’m so proud of you for making new friends!” The blue eyed girl chirps through the phone.

 

“Oh god, Jenna. What if he’s ignoring me because I double-texted? Is that desperate? I feel like I seem desperate.” Tyler frets, now pacing back and forth in his socks on the small wooden deck.

 

“Ty, my guy-”

 

“Please never say that again,” Tyler interrupts.

 

Jenna giggles then continues, “Ty, it’s not desperate at all. Don’t even worry about it. He’s probably just busy,” she pauses for a minute, shuffling and muffled voices can be heard in the background. “I’m so sorry Tyler, my mom is calling me downstairs to come shopping with her right now. I promise I’ll text you when I get back.”

 

“Oh okay. Bye Jen,” Tyler says, a slightly disappointing tone laced into his voice.

  
“Bye Ty.” The call ends.


	7. sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Peacemaker - Koji

_**(start song)** _

 

There is a familiar feeling that creeps into Tyler’s head every once in awhile. The feeling of getting _worse._ When thoughts get slower and darker. When motivation ceases to exist. When everything seems as if it has a grey veil draped over it like a thick fog rolling in after rain.

 

The feeling was growing quickly, it’s roots making their way into every single crevice of his brain, killing the lovely flowers that Jenna planted with only her voice. The feeling was more of a lack of feeling than anything. It leaves Tyler with a desire to fill the voids it had left behind. He is still sat on the railing of the balcony, a little closer to the edge than before. The mixture of the crisp air biting at his ears and the possibility that if he fell, his head would crack on the ground below momentarily creates a break in his dissociative state. He grins at that thought.

 

He swings his legs around the railing and reaches for the floor, standing with unsteady legs. His hands don’t feel connected to his body, his feet feel like they aren’t even touching the ground. Almost as if he was watching this moment play out from above, floating like a ghost or perched upon one of the branches of a tree. The feeling spreads throughout him, a frustratingly empty emotion.

 

 _I need to feel. I need to feel anything but this._ Tyler could almost hear his thoughts aloud. He slams the door to his balcony, falls backward onto his bed, hits his head and hands on his keyboard in an attempt to cease, or at least delay, the heavy feeling in his chest. Nothing works. Nothing could snap him back into reality better than the sharp drag of a blade across his skin.

 

The bathroom was only a short walk down the hallway but now he had tears streaming steadily down his face and leaving his room risks bumping into his dad. He practically sprints to the small room, closing and locking the door immediately without getting caught. Flicking the lights on made his vision go blurry with the combination of bright, fluorescent light and salty tears. Fumbling around in the drawer, he finds what he needs. A few trapezoid shaped blades, stolen from the craft store.

 

The first cut is shallow, testing the waters. A bead of blood escapes and the end of Tyler's sleeve catches it. The process continues until red is everywhere, blood mixing with salt water. Pure bliss comes with the sting of completely mutilating himself. It’s addicting. Better than drugs, sex, or anything Tyler could manage to think of in the moment. One of the wounds is bleeding more than the others, but it’s still not the deepest he’s ever gone. It hurts like hell, exactly how it should be. All worries gone, flowing away with the red tinted water down the drain of the bathroom sink.

-

The sound of his mom knocking on the bathroom door shakes Tyler from his daze, sitting on the floor watching his wounds clot and his hands shake.

 

“Tyler? Are you coming downstairs for dinner or not?” She asks, a slightly demanding tone in her voice.

 

“I might as well,” Tyler sighs and stands up, searching the cabinet for some gauze or bandages. He wraps his forearm tightly, a few spots of blood seeping through still, and exits the bathroom. The smell of spaghetti wafting through the house makes him gag. It’s the only thing his parents know how to cook without using the microwave. They think they’re special while Tyler thinks he’d rather eat a candy bar from the convenience store.

 

“What the hell did you do to your arm?” Tyler’s dad sounds more disgusted than sympathetic when he catches sight of his previous actions in the bathroom. He couldn’t care less.

 

Tyler shrugs, meeting his mom’s worried eyes for a split second before filling a plate with pasta. He moves to retreat back upstairs to his room, much preferring the soothing silence in there over the uncomfortable silence of the dinner table, but his mom stops him.

 

Her gaze is now a glare. “Eat down here sweetie, you barely talk to us anymore. I miss you,” her words are soft despite the cold look on her face.

 

“You know damn well why I don’t talk to either of you,” he says under his breath, before sitting down at the table in their kitchen. The room goes silent as his dad stands up, his chair skidding across the floor.

 

“Did you say something?” The man seethes, fists balled up at his sides with an infuriated expression on his face.

 

Tyler stops in his tracks, bracing himself for whatever his dad had to throw at him. “Nothing,” he replies, hot tears forming in his eyes for the second time that night.

 

His dad makes a noise of satisfaction before sitting back down, Tyler doing the same. He feels small, limbs tense and pulled close to his body, eyes locked on his neglected plate of food. A tear rolls down his cheek before landing on the table, a soft sob escapes his lips and he screws his eyes shut, trying to block out the environment around him.

 

“Are you fucking crying now?” His dad says with a laugh, and Tyler shoots daggers with his reddened eyes from across the table. It was his turn to skid the chair across the floor and withdraw from the table. More sobs escape as he runs back to his room and locks the door.

 

The first thing he thinks to do is call Jenna. Jenna could help, Jenna always knows what to do. Jenna was his _only_ help. But his only help went to voicemail on the first ring and Tyler _wails_. A million thoughts racing around as to what to do, what the hell he was supposed to do.

 

_Scratch open your cuts._

_Make more cuts._

_Make them deeper, see the disgusting fat and bone._

_Scream._

_Jump off your balcony._

 

The world feels like it was closing in on him from all angles. With his head between his knees, he sobs louder and louder in an attempt to silence his own intrusive thoughts.

 

Without putting much contemplation into it, he scrolls through his contacts before hitting “call.” Before he even knows it, the dial tone is ringing and the voice of a certain man with tired eyes and red hair is sounding through the phone.

  
  
  
  
  



	8. huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: A World Alone - Lorde  
> (whoomp there it is)

_**(wait to start song)** _

 

Josh’s phone vibrates in his pocket from where he is standing in the kitchen, a pot of the cheapest macaroni and cheese cooking on the stove in front of him. He retrieves his phone to see an unknown number flash across the screen, with the area code for Columbus, Ohio. Normally, the call would be declined or ignored but curiosity gets the best of Josh and his thumb is swiping across the screen to answer the call.

 

“Hello?” He starts, expecting the caller to be a telemarketer or a wrong number.

 

A mix between a gasp and a sob is heard on the other end of the phone before a shaky voice replies, “Josh?”

 

The red haired man is taken aback. “Tyler?” He asks in an equally faltering voice.

 

“Josh please- Josh I don’t know what to do and I didn’t have anyone else to call so I called you,” A choked off breath, “Gosh, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I barely even know you. This is probably the longest conversation we’ve ever had and here I am crying on the phone to you,” Josh could barely make out Tyler’s words through the quiver in his voice and the grainy sound quality of the phone speaker.

 

He realizes that something is wrong instantly, not even caring that he doesn’t even know Tyler’s last name. “Shh, it’s okay dude. Do you need me to pick you up or something? Shit, I don’t even know what’s going on but how can I help?”

 

“Y-Yeah, can you pick me up? I need to get out of here,” The other boy whispers the last part. “I’ll text you my address, I gotta go,” He says quickly and the line goes dead.

 

Josh is already putting his shoes on and finding his keys by the time the call is over, and shortly afterwards, a notification for a text is on his screen from the same unknown number. An address is displayed on the message.

 

“Mom! I have to go right now it’s kind of an emergency, there’s food on the stove. I’ll eat when I get back,” he yells in the general direction of his mom from the doorway.

 

“Wait, what-” Were the only words his mother managed to get out before the door was closing and Josh was jogging to his car.

 

His phone’s directions said that it would take less than ten minutes to get to Tyler’s house, a part of him was anxious to find out why the boy had been sobbing on the phone so desperately. This made his stomach feel like it was tying itself in knots. Another small part of him was scolding himself for even picking up the phone. The damage had been done already. _Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached._

 

A red light is approaching, Josh fumbles around in the pocket of his jeans to find a cigarette but remembers that he finished his last pack this morning, the empty cardboard box probably still sitting on his dresser. The silence in the car is deafening, the sound of passing cars and the low hum of his own car not being enough to protect from the lack of music. The gap of uncomfortable quietness is soon flushed out by blaring radio, and Josh continues to drive.

-

As soon as the call ended, Tyler could hear someone, most likely his dad, coming up the stairs. A harsh knock at his door sounded, followed by an angry shout of his own name. On instinct, Tyler jolts his head up and forces himself impossibly closer to the door to his balcony, considering that an easy escape if he wanted to climb down a tree. _Or fall to his death_. The knocking and shouting continues, now between both of his parents. His dad still trying to coax Tyler into opening his door while his mom is trying to calm his dad.

 

The, still sobbing, boy stands on unsteady legs and quietly finds a backpack, propped up against his wall, untouched from high school. He shoves in the first pair of clothes he finds, his phone charger, and other necessities, not expecting or wanting to be home by tonight. Swinging the bag over his shoulder, he opens the glass door to the balcony, trying to leave without a sound.

 

After waiting for what seemed like an hour, a pair of headlights pulls into the gravelly driveway below and Tyler can see a bright red head of hair through the windshield. The car door opens and Josh steps out, looking towards the front door of the house, but Tyler stops him.

 

_**(start song)** _

 

“Josh,” he whisper-shouts. Josh’s head perks up at the faint sound of his name, but shrugs his shoulders, passing it off as his imagination. “Josh I’m up here,” Tyler says, with more volume this time. Josh’s eyes dart towards the balcony above him, recognizing the brown haired boy, barely making out his tired eyes and red, tearstained cheeks.

 

Tyler climbs onto the railing of the balcony, dangerously close to falling. Josh holds his breath and bites the inside of his cheek almost hard enough to draw blood. Tyler expertly grasps the large tree branch just above his head, before swinging his feet over to touch the branch below. The process repeats, grasping branches and biting cheeks until the brunet’s feet are on the ground and he’s brushing his hands off on his pants. He stares at Josh, drinking in his appearance and shooting a satisfied smirk in his direction. He sniffles and Josh is reminded why he came here in the first place.

 

“You okay?” The red headed man is the first one to break the silence between the two.

 

“No,” The other replies simply, a light smile on his face despite the fact that tears were currently drying on his face.

 

They get in the car, Josh turns the engine back on and is instantly greeted by the blaring sound of the radio. Tyler whimpers from the passenger seat, Josh quickly turns it off while pulling out of the driveway. The drive was silent, slow burning as the sun sets in front of them. It is at the perfect angle to look so beautiful while simultaneously shining directly into their eyes.

 

“Josh,” Tyler breaks the silence, Josh glances over to the boy next to him, who looks like he is deep in thought. “I feel grown up with you, in your car,” he continues, biting his lip out of nerves.

 

“Is that so?” Josh ponders the statement but is interrupted.

 

“I know that sounds dumb-”

 

“It’s not.”

 

“I like the idea of not being so,” Tyler pauses, “constricted, for lack of better word, by parents. Have you ever felt like that?”

 

“I have. It has it’s ups and downs. For example,” The other replies while pulling into a store parking lot, “I can get cigarettes whenever I so please,” He puts the car in park before removing the key, “but I still get yelled at for smoking them.”

 

He steps out of the car, instructing Tyler to wait there, before heading into the store to buy more cigarettes.

-

When Josh returns, Tyler is, once again, hysterical. His weeping could be heard faintly from outside of the car. Josh slides into the driver’s seat with an unlit cigarette between his lips, not knowing what to do besides watch as the boy cries with his hands clasped over his ears and his eyes screwed shut tightly. Josh pushes in the car’s built-in cigarette lighter, waiting for it to glow bright red, but Tyler seemed to have another plan. As soon as it clicked, he pulls it out of it’s spot and presses the scorching metal directly into the palm of his hand, letting out a shrill scream but continuing to impulsively burn himself.

 

Josh took the lighter from his fingers and the boys shaking wrist in another, holding his palm to Josh’s face. The older of the two used this opportunity to light his cigarette on the terrible burn, puffing out smoke and staring the boy in the face. Tyler stared back at him and blinks in disbelief, his face still showing signs of pain but turned softer due to the harsh gaze Josh had on him. They both inspected the burn silently, noticing how deep it penetrated through several layers of skin.

 

“You want one?” Josh nudged the pack of cigarettes towards the other boy, whose sobs had ceased but still has tears dripping down his cheeks. Tyler takes one, placing it between his lips and using the lighter for it’s intended purpose this time. He inhales and coughs from the harsh nicotine mixing with the cooling menthol.

 

“I don’t even smoke,” He says after his third drag, the car now a cloudy mess. Josh rolls down a window, letting smoke out and chilly air in.

 

The older man lets out a low laugh, “These things might as well nail my coffin shut.” He starts the car once again and peels out of the vacant lot. “Let’s go home, darlin’.” Tyler’s cheeks aren’t pink from tears anymore.

  
Silence engulfs the car once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the cigarette burn scene was inspired by the movie "Heathers." Good movie btw.


	9. neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

_**(start song)** _ ****

 

It stings. Tyler’s teeth are clenched together, legs crossed, as Josh’s thumb swipes burn cream over his upturned palm.

 

“You don’t need to.” The statement is ignored.

 

“I can do that.” A _nuh-uh_ followed by a high hiss of pain is heard.

 

Hot breath fans over the younger boy’s goosebump covered forearm from where Josh is trying his hardest not to press too harshly into the shiny scorched skin. A gust of cold air flows in through the open window, tousling curly red locks and freeing the room of stale cigarette smell. He finishes with a spider man printed bandage that wrinkles and sticks to itself when Tyler makes a fist. The brunet rolls down his sleeve, but is stopped with another cold hand on his that says “wait.” Tyler can feel eyes burning right through the bandages on his wrist down to his bones and he recoils his arm protectively towards his torso, his heartbeat quickening with apprehension.

 

“It’s okay,” Josh whispers. “You’re okay.” Tyler holds his breath when he hears the sound of Josh’s jeans being unzipped. He shuffles them halfway down his thighs before Tyler can exhale and catch a glimpse of puffy pink and white lines identical to his decorating the expanse of the red head’s upper thighs. His shoulders relax and his eyes wander up to meet Josh’s, who’s are already trained on Tyler’s slightly swollen face. His gaze is reassuring, almost inviting the nervous boy to reach out and feel what Josh has done to himself. The feeling is familiar, much too familiar. With ridges and shallow valleys painted on in uniform lines or haphazard slashes running beneath soft fingertips. It was Josh’s turn to get goosebumps. He seems to take notice as he quickly blames it on the cracked open window and pulls his pants up again.

 

Tyler is rigid in his spot on Josh’s bed, like a china doll with stiff limbs and rosy cheeks. Only lacking in perfect porcelain skin and upturned smiling lips. The silence is most awkward, only being broken by the sound of a lighter flicking to life and igniting the cigarette from it’s home between Josh’s chapped lips. That, and Tyler’s small, uncertain voice answering the question the other was too afraid to ask.

 

“My parents abuse me,” was all he said, eyes focusing on the piece of string hanging off of the cuff of his sweater like it was the most important thing in the world.

 

Josh exhales smoke towards the ceiling, not wanting to taint the vulnerable boy’s lungs. As if they haven’t already experienced being infected repeatedly with chemicals.

 

“Is that so?” It wasn’t teasing or said in disbelief, it was knowing and gently urging the boy to continue.

 

“My dad he,” a pause, “he hits me sometimes...and says mean things to me. My mom doesn’t do anything about it. She’s just as scared as I am so she just joins in or ignores me.”

 

The cigarette is now dangling from Josh’s parted lips, a few ashes falling carelessly on the neglected bedsheets and his pant leg. Tyler’s black jeans are stained as well as the hem of his woolen garment, but with salted tears starting to fall once again that night. Silence settles. The sad boy’s chest feels heavy with the thought of having to return home tomorrow, arms and legs locked in place once again with fear and uncertainty.

 

He continues, “I wish I could leave, I wish I never had to see their unapologetic faces again for as long as I live but I can’t. I didn’t go to college like they wanted me to. I work a fucking shitty ass job because of it, and I’m never going to have enough money to move out.” Sobs are escaping his lips at a steady pace as he talks between sniffles and whimpers, eyes hooded and head down, still focused on pulling at those deathly important loose strings with blunt fingernails.

 

“I wish I could leave too,” Josh says through a cloud of smoke.

 

The other boys glassy eyes dart up to meet bloodshot eyes, a curious look on his face that tells Josh to go on.

 

“Do you ever think about death, Tyler?” He asks abruptly, without hesitation.

 

Tyler wants to answer with reluctance, he wants to be able to say _no, I want to live_. He would be lying.

 

“Yes,” an uncertain exhale.

 

“Me too, it’s alright,” and Josh leaves it at that, stubbing his cigarette out in the full ashtray before lighting another one and trying not to dwell on the way Tyler looks being swallowed by his sweater. And how his amber eyes reflect bits of gold. And how his cheeks are the perfect shade of pink, despite the irritation being from crying and the dusting of acne across his forehead and nose. He was trying not to get attached. _Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached._

 

The sobs have ceased, Josh offering to fill the silence with the soft sound of music. They find common ground through crackly speakers playing Death Cab and an unfinished bag of chips from the other night. All is calm on the outside, stinging cheeks and sore throats starting to feel at peace, eyes and postures becoming relaxed with sleep and nicotine clouds rolling around the room. Night shifts and macaroni dinners forgotten.

 

At some point, their knees touch between crossed legs and bad posture, the two finding comfort in the presence and soft pressure of each other. Caught up in conversations about favorite foods and hopes for the future.

 

“I don't think I have a plan B,” says the brunet, shuffling ever so closer to the other, who hasn't stopped smoking all night.

 

“What's your plan A then?” The chain smoker inquires.

 

Amber eyes light up, shining with the colors of precious metals instead of tears. He tilts his head, not-so-subtly admiring the way their cheeks have switched roles. Josh, now adorning a rosey hue upon his high cheekbones.

 

“Music. Absolutely one-hundred-percent music,” as if on cue, the record ends, fuzzy silence entering the room once again.

 

Josh’s dark chocolate eyes are now filled with curiosity at their shared love of melodic poetry. “Do you sing? Can you play instruments?”

 

“I play the piano- well keyboard, and the ukulele. I sing a little bit too. It's not that special,” Tyler’s voice trails off, hoping that Josh wouldn't ask for him to sing.

 

“Well I can't wait to hear,” he takes a drag of his fifth cigarette, “if you're comfortable, I would love for you to play for me.”

 

Josh's stomach drops for a second, realizing that he had just possibly set himself up to fall deeper into the heart of the fragile china doll currently pressed to his side.

 

_Don't get attached. Don't get attached._

 

Josh could never follow his own rule.

 

Something stirs inside of Tyler, something oddly reassuring that he could and would play for Josh. Despite only knowing the ruby haired man for a short time, he felt a sense of mutual trust between them. Josh wouldn't judge. _Josh wouldn't tell Tyler to “get a life kid.”_ Josh wouldn't dream of crushing the hope of the boy with no plan B _._

 

The two halves of what's left of the boy's hearts seemed to find each other that night like magnets. Both of them understanding the fragility of each other without reason or explanation.

 

Soft brown hair finds it's way to ashen jeans on the unmade bed in Josh's room. Josh is petrified, completely still as to not let the tired boy stir in his lap. Tyler's breath becomes even while the other man’s breath continues to be laced with tobacco.

 

The sleeping boy’s dreams have a red filter over them as he rests. _Red burns, red cheeks, red hair, red blood._

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic seems so unoriginal right now but you just wait...just wait because this piece of shit is going to get fucked in the ass.  
> hey check out my other Stuff maybe


	10. dix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Fallingforyou - The 1975

_**(start song)** _

 

The two wake that morning in a pile of sweat coated limbs, far too close for either of their comforts but not seeming to care enough to do something about it. Tyler's eyes flutter open first, rubbing away dried tears and taking in his surroundings. He faces Josh, with the older man's arm fitted snugly around his waist, his own leg tangled in between the redhead’s. The scent of nicotine laced breath is prominent, fanning over the expanse of Tyler's neck, coming from the sleeping man. Josh is still sound asleep, looking as peaceful as ever with softened features and little red curls falling onto his forehead, lips slightly parted with even breaths escaping them. Tyler closes his eyes.

-

His eyes reopen some time in late morning due to the absence of warmth and strong arms around his waist. The air is foggy, both outside the window and inside Tyler’s head. With dull worries and bleary vision pronouncing his state of post-breakdown and slight dissociation. Worries and thoughts of home, of his mom and dad, of Josh, of where Josh is at this moment. A noise answers his question, the sound of a shower turning on coming from the bathroom connected to the bedroom.

 

Tyler sits up, stretching and cracking his limbs; he's yawning, while wondering what he should do with himself while Josh showers. His hair is greasy, he can somehow feel how it is both matted and sticking up in every direction imaginable without looking in the mirror. He feels dirty, with a night's worth of perspiration and oil built up on his skin. It's disgusting. The sound of the shower is absent after only five minutes and Tyler wishes he was at home under his own faucet with his own scorchingly hot water washing dirt, dried tears, and dried blood off his body. Home wasn't an option right now, and staying at Josh's house forever certainly wasn't an option either.

 

His gaze travels towards the dull light of the window, admiring the beautiful gloom of the morning. Most people find the most divine days to be the ones filled with warm breezes and rays of light fitting themselves through clouds and greenery. The ones that fall some time between spring and summer, days where people decide that they should be outside to experience the beauty. With kids squinting their eyes from the brightness and turning their noses away from the smell of cigar smoke, perking up at the scent of barbecues and blooming flora.

 

Tyler believes quite the opposite, finding the excitement of a “perfect” day too common. It is the rarer, overcast and murky days that he loves. The days where clouds hang low and heavy, threatening rain that never would come. The days where shades of blue and gray are painted over everything in sight and the caws of corvids pierce the air. Air that makes you dizzy when you step outside to taste it, and the atmosphere feels heavier yet calm. _Petrichor_. That earthy, artistic scent that surrounds you. Tyler lets the humid air in on these days, opening every window and inhaling inspiration, then spitting it back out on paper through his pen in the form of poetry that, if he's lucky, will be put to music. These days help him create, they let the words flow effortlessly into his journal, something that would be drowned by those blindingly bright “perfect” days everyone else loves.

 

A door knob clicks from across the room, producing the sight of Josh for the first time this morning, clad in only a towel wrapped around his waist while brushing his teeth. Tyler tries not to stare, having never pictured Josh to be as fit as he is, judging by the food he eats, but the brunet is _so wrong._ His eyes rake over Josh's torso, trying not to care that he is most definitely staring too long. He takes in Josh's abs, his arms, and most importantly the vibrant tattoo sleeve that he somehow failed to notice before. It's simply a piece of art. With swirls of a galaxy, a tree, and a sunset all fitting together seamlessly.

 

“Good morning,” Josh says, voice slightly muffled by the toothpaste in his mouth. He noticed Tyler staring, but didn't say anything, also noting the fact that the younger boy somehow makes bedhead look adorable.

 

_Don't get attached._

 

He spits the toothpaste out and rinses his mouth before Tyler could reply.

 

“How long have you been awake?” Tyler asks, voice quiet yet rough from just waking up.

 

Josh leaves the bathroom in search of some clothes, digging around in drawers. “About fifteen minutes. Why?”

 

“Nothing,” comes a reply from the bed. Tyler shuffles around to get comfortable in Josh's presence, only to be left alone again when the red haired man retreats back into the bathroom.

 

He comes out again, this time clothed, and sits on the bed next to Tyler. The brunet tenses, pulling his knees to his chest to make room for the other man.

 

“Do you need a ride home? Shit- are you even safe to go home?” Josh asks, deep brown eyes searching Tyler for some indication that he is feeling better from last night.

 

“Uh, yeah. I actually just texted my friend to come pick me up,” Tyler lies, not wanting to intrude on Josh any longer and noting to text Jenna as soon as possible.

 

Josh nods, slightly disappointed that Tyler is leaving so soon but reminding himself, _don't get attached, let him leave._

 

“I'm going to go see if I have any food, do you want anything?” The redhead asks, standing up once again and heading towards the bedroom door. Tyler makes a small “mhm” noise from his seat on the bed and Josh stops in the doorway, leaning on the frame and looking expectantly towards the brunet. Tyler stares back momentarily before realizing that the other man is inviting him to join. The two head towards the kitchen.

-

They eat in silence over the kitchen table as their cereal gets soggy and Tyler's fingers tap away at the screen of his phone.

 

**_Tyler Joseph:_ **

**_hey Jen I'm kind of in an odd situation right now_ **

Sent at 11:22 a.m.

 

He waits for a reply, taking spoonfuls of cereal and glancing towards Josh every couple minutes. His phone screen lights up from where it is sitting in his lap and Tyler immediately checks for his friend's response.

 

**_Jenna Black:_ **

**_what kind of odd situation….?_ **

Received at 11:26 a.m.

 

Tyler tenses in his seat as Josh stands, only to reach into his back pocket and pull out a box of cigarettes and his lighter. The brunet watches as he places one between his lips, igniting the end while inhaling the toxins, before sitting back down and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling. Josh raises his eyebrows at the younger boy, catching him staring, then nudges the pack of smokes closer to Tyler across the table.

 

“No thank you,” he says softly, before turning his attention back to his phone.

 

**_Tyler Joseph:_ **

**_where do I start. well last night I got into another little spat with my parents and had a slight breakdown. one thing led to another and now I’m at Josh's house. do you mind picking me up? if it's not too much trouble of course. I just don't want to have to see my parents for a little bit._ **

Sent at 11:31 a.m.

 

He lets out a deep breath he had been holding the entire duration of typing that text, and the three little dots appear at the bottom of his screen almost instantaneously.

 

**_Jenna Black:_**

**_oh Tyler, I'm so sorry, I actually saw that you called last night but it completely slipped my mind to call you back. I'll be there ASAP. just hmu with the address._ **

Received at 11:32 a.m.

 

**_Jenna Black:_**

**_also don't think you're getting away with not telling me every detail of you and Josh's little hangout :)))))_ **

Received at 11:32 a.m.

 

Tyler smiles at the text, sending Jenna his location shortly after and turning the phone face down onto the table. He looks up to find Josh already staring, a hard but not threatening look on his face, cigarette between his lips.

 

“Who's got you all smiley over there?” The older of the two asks out of sheer curiosity.

 

Tyler blushes, both from embarrassment and from the fact that the other man's gaze never falters as he raises an eyebrow and lets plumes of smoke escape through the corner of his mouth.

 

“Oh she's just a friend. A coworker actually.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

The other man's response is vague as he stands once again to place his bowl in the kitchen sink, with Tyler following shortly after, sock-clad feet dragging across the cool laminate floor.

-

“Tyler,” Josh starts, catching the boy's attention from where they're sat inches apart on the unmade bed. “Do you remember what I asked you last night?”

 

The brunet thinks, wringing his hands and tilting his head.

 

“I asked if you've ever thought about death, and you said yes,” He continues. Tyler averts his eyes with embarrassment, knowing well that his previous state of crying and panic made him more truthful than he'd like. “I do too. Don't worry, I do too.”

 

A text tone snaps the two out of their uncomfortable silence following the short conversation, coming from Tyler's phone. He glances at the screen then towards the window, seeing the pale yellow of Jenna’s car sitting in the gravel driveway.

 

“I gotta go,” Tyler says, gathering everything he had brought into his arms before slipping his shoes on and rushing towards the door.

 

“I'll walk you out,” Josh adds as he follows closely behind, jogging to catch up to the front doorway to unlock it for the brunet.

 

Said brunet waves one last goodbye to Josh as his shoes drag along the rocks and pebbles to Jenna’s car, the red haired man leaning on the door frame with a cigarette dangling from his mouth and nervous hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. 

 


	11. onze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Dog Teeth - Nicole Dollanganger

_**(start song)** _ ****

 

The drive is short, with the volume of the radio turned down low and Jenna's neverending questions coming one after another.

 

“It was too much.” Tyler starts in a faltering voice. “Jenna, you know I don't like my parents, right?”

 

She nods, worried eyes flickering between Tyler and the road ahead.

 

Tyler takes a deep breath, clutching his backpack closer to his chest. “Well my dad, and sometimes my mom, they...yell at me a lot. My dad has tried to hit me before but that was when he was really drunk. But don't worry! It's not that bad. It's fine,” the words tumble out of his mouth all at once, heart rate picking up and his hands gripping onto the bag becoming sweaty.

 

“Oh Tyler, I'm so sorry. How could I not have known this, damnit. You should call someone, tell somebody so they can help you!” Jenna's voice slightly raises, frustration and anger building up at the abuse happening right under her nose.

 

And Tyler is sobbing. Letting the tears, choked off whimpers, and snot go in a passenger seat for the second time in 24 hours. Jenna's grip on the steering wheel loosens at the sound of the fragile boy's cries, her eyebrows knitting together. What she doesn't know is that he _has_ called CPS. But those open ended words of _“we'll call you back soon”_ have been echoing in his head every waking hours since then. The cause is lost now, because at eighteen years old, the responsibility of his safety is in his own hands, and the low number in his bank account is not in his favor.

 

“Jen, I’m eighteen. I either need to move out or sit still and take whatever they have to throw at me. But I’m broke, I have nowhere to go, I work a minimum wage job, and I turned down a scholarship. I’m a lost cause,” The brunet chokes out once his sobs let up. He runs a shaking hand through greasy hair, pulling at the strands and scratching his nails over his scalp.

 

With this revelation, Jenna takes the next U-turn she can find. “You can stay at my house, we can work something out for now. I'm so sorry, Ty,” She says, trying to mask her worry and uncertainty but failing, resorting to her own nervous habit of chewing on her nails while turning the car sharply.

 

“I’m going to be nineteen, remember?” Tyler's head lolls over to the fogged over window and he keeps it there, “Should already have something figured out.”

-

“I thought I told you to stop smoking those,” Josh’s mom starts as she walks into the kitchen, dumping out her daily pill cocktail and tossing them to the back of her throat.

 

“I'm twenty now, remember?” He mirrors her actions with his own set of medications, turning and stuffing them into his back pocket as his mother’s gaze focuses on something else.

 

“I also thought you said you don't have any friends, hm?” She asks from the sink, talking over the tap water and rinsing the _two_ bowls. She holds them in front of her with a cocked eyebrow as water droplets hit the floor.

 

“I was just giving him somewhere to crash for one night, don't get your hopes up,” the redhead replies, flicking through a magazine left on the kitchen table and stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray. A satisfactory, yet disbelieving huff comes from the other side of the kitchen as Josh retreats to his room, the tiny capsules and powdery blue pills burning a hole in his pocket.

 

The meds find their home in an unlabeled pill bottle, joining the others that have been accumulating. The fact that Josh hasn't been swallowing those pills every day shows as the medicine cabinet closes, revealing his worn out reflection.

-

Tyler does the same, standing still in the family bathroom at his only friend's house, desperately needing to change something about himself to leave these terrible days behind. With too many bad memories attached to his skin. Scrapes, burns, scars, bruises, dirt, grime, and _hair._ An electric razor sits on the counter, plugged into the wall, and the same hand as before is tugging through coffee colored strands that have been growing through all of the abuse. The switch is flipped on the razor, telltale humming noise filling the bathroom as Tyler takes one last look at himself before leaning his head over the sink and shaving a large patch down the middle of his head. Blunt fingernails scratch over the buzzed hair, comparing that to the longer strands collecting at the bottom of the sink and breathing deeply.

  
Despite hair weighing so little, Tyler's shoulders feel lighter when he leaves that bathroom, after taking a part of himself and throwing it out and washing it down the drain. The liberating feeling of being brand new with stinging wounds and nothing to grasp onto when he's nervous anymore, nothing to twirl between fingertips when sleep is so close to overpowering his consciousness. Most of all, nothing to prevent the inevitable explanation he owes his best friend when she pokes at his scrapes, burns, scars, bruises, and gently feels the new lack of chocolate brown hair.


	12. douze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Friend Please - Twenty One Pilots

_**(start song)** _

 

Blunt fingernails practically haven't left Tyler's head since he had shaved it. Both his and Jenna's careful hands messing with the fuzzy feeling as they sit cross legged in bed together. The morning drones on like the calm after a storm. Thoughts at a standstill but worries harboring the back of both of their minds. Tyler wears the same clothes, the heavy, sweaty, smoke scented fabric brushing up against his clean skin with every movement. Clean skin, clean of salted tears and grime and dried blood. But soap and water could never wash away shallow slashes on the surface, or the bruises beneath, or the threatening thoughts that lie miles below.

“Are you ready to talk?” Jenna's voice emerges from the silence, sounding something like the worrying mother that will never exist in Tyler's life.

With a nod of his head, Tyler takes one last deep breath to compose his thoughts. He tells Jenna everything. From the knock on the bathroom door the previous night, red dripping down the drain, to the way the tree bark burned the palms of his hands as he climbed down to Josh, the feeling of another burn joining his skin in the form of a car lighter, manifested from the buildup of thoughts and thoughts and thoughts. The bandage applied with shaking hands. Leaving out the part about multiple cigarettes tainting the brunet’s lungs, as well the part about Josh's arms being so tightly wrapped around Tyler's feeble frame. But including the part about sharing cereal over the kitchen table, all the way to the the quick goodbye the younger boy left the redheaded man.

Jenna's eyebrows are knitted together, attempting to wrap her mind around the situation, guilt creeping up on her.

“I'm sorry,” She states, eyes averted, focused on picking at a split end.

“Sorry for what?” The brunet asks.

“I'm sorry I didn't pick up the phone when you called yesterday. I could've helped you,” Jenna explains, voice faltering.

“Jen, it's fine. Don't worry about it. I knew you weren't home and Josh took care of it anyway,” Tyler assures her, voice gone soft. The girl next to him sighs, dropping her hands into her lap and staring back at Tyler, searching for truth in that statement. His eyes are assuring, he offers a weak smile, to which the blonde can't help but reciprocate.

The comforting glance quickly turns panicked, eyes going wide in realization.

“Shit, I have to work tonight. My stuff is at my house,” Tyler stammers, desperately looking for a solution.

Jenna lets out a muted “oh no,” setting her eyes upon the window in thought, the still gloomy air upon the trees and grass. “Do you think you can get anything from your house without your parents seeing you?” She asks, a hopeful undertone in her voice.

Tyler thinks for a minute, scratching his head in frustration, fingertips still not used to the peach fuzz feeling. “My dad works until five, I think. My mom is home so we just have to be stealthy,” he concludes, biting his tongue and staring at the other girl for confirmation.

She nods, “Yeah, we can do that.”

 

 _ **(stop song)**_ ****  
-  
Twigs snap and fragile autumn leaves fall as Tyler climbs the tree to his balcony, the same tree he escaped this very house with. Scaling the tree is difficult, he uses all his strength he can muster in his frail body, with added misfortune from the circular burn being scraped with every grasp onto a branch. The brunet grits his teeth, seething in pain as one particular part of the tree pokes the wound in the worst way. The railing isn't far, and his eyes are trained on the landing.

Once his feet are firmly on the wooden deck, he brushes his hands off on his pants, listening for any sign of his mom in the house. The door creaks as it slides open, and Tyler holds his breath, pausing to listen once again for any disturbances in the seemingly quiet house. Once again, he pushes the door open, slower this time, only cracked enough to be able to fit his body through the narrow entrance. He slips through, and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his home, smelling like campfires and whatever happened to be cooking in the kitchen. His mom is definitely in the kitchen, and his door is wide open, lock picked.

With light feet, Tyler walks towards his dresser, swinging his backpack off of his shoulders and stuffing in anything useful that had been gathering dust on the wooden surface. A charger, the bracelet Jenna gave him, a beanie, his journal. He stops at the journal, seeing it open to a random page, unlike how he had left it the day before. This journal is his outlet, the only way to get every little feeling out in a coherent way and it feels like all his purpose has been ripped from him. Something so private, something just for him, something that not even Jenna has seen, is sitting, open to the world. The page that is displayed in front of him is a song, or a poem, a thought. Something that rhymes and could be put to music if Tyler's body would allow him to say these words out loud without tearing up.

“I start to part two halves of my heart in the dark, and IDon't know where I should go and the tears and the fears begin to multiplyTaking time in a simple place; in my bed where my head rests on a pillowcaseAnd it's said that a war's lead but I forget that I let another day go byI want to be afraid but it seems that these daysI'm caught under water and I'm falling fartherMy heart's getting harder, I'm calling my fatherAm I screaming to an empty sky?Empty sky, no way, that's me cause one half of my heart is freeEmpty sky, no way, that's me, cause the other half of my heart's asleep.”

Tyler closes the book quickly, stuffing it in the backpack. Footsteps are heard, coming up the steps, creaking floorboards and Tyler panics. He walks as quickly and quietly as possible towards the balcony, shutting the door with minimal noise and pressing himself up against the siding of the house. The footsteps echo through the upstairs, and Tyler prays to every god there is that his mom doesn't decide to come onto his balcony for some fresh air. With the smallest of movements, he looks halfway through the glass door, seeing no sign of anyone in his room, and cracks the door not half an inch, pressing his ear as close to the opening as possible without making himself visible from inside the room.

Moments later, the same echoing footsteps are heard, descending down the steps once again along with a faint humming of a song Tyler couldn't recognize. He quietly returns to his room, packing the bag on his back at a quicker pace and taking one last glance at the room before him, not knowing when he'd return. The bed, the dresser, the desk that has so many tears and spills of coffee stained into the wood, and his keyboard. The only thing he will miss about this house. His eyes stop on the smooth piece of wood poking out from under his bed, remembering his ukulele that he's been aiming to learn for the past few months. In one swift move, he slides the instrument out from under the bed, blows away the thin layer of dust settled on top of it, and exits his room.

The bitter November air graces the tip of the boy’s nose and the shell of his ears, flushing them a shade of pink and drying his eyes. With an extra height of three inches, from the help of standing on the tips of his toes, he can see the contrasting color of Jenna's car parked a few doors down the road, out of sight from anyone who knows Tyler. He swings his legs over the railing once again and begins his descent to the leaf covered ground.

 


	13. treize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Oceans - Seafret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't notice, i made it so each chapter has a song that goes with it so you can listen while you read. It's a great experience. So feel free to just continue the book with or without songs, or read from the beginning with the song's accompaniment.

**_(start song)_ **

 

Josh sits at the kitchen table once again, offering company to his fatigued mother. She sips black coffee, cloudy eyes staring off towards the window. The second gloomy day in a row is in full swing. Grey clouds hanging low, the wind picking up slightly, rustling dirty leaves and wind chimes. Josh stares along with the woman next to him, the weather reminding him of the broken boy named Tyler in the best way possible. 

 

All is quiet, save for the flick of a lighter under his thumb every few seconds, Josh's hands finding the nearest item to toy with, and the steady breathing of his mother. Her breaths grow heavier and quicker, an all too familiar occurrence in her life. The redhead plucks a cigarette from the carton resting in his hand, setting it between his chapped lips as his mother lets out a sigh, in defeat and regret. Soon enough, smoke fills his lungs, easing the tension inside of him, undoubtedly thickening the tension in the room. The grey aura leaving his parted lips provides visible strain on the atmosphere, and Josh's mother's breath hitches. 

 

She clutches her chest, breath quickening even further and a stray tear finding it's way into the murky coffee grasped in her hand. Josh has grown accustomed to these episodes, never knowing if they would end with his mother continuing her day or with her laying in a hospital bed. Never wanting the steady beat of her heart to ceace. He looks at her, worry in his eyes as he gauges the situation based on how she looks. Her cheeks are flushed red, her chest rising and falling with every gasp for air behind crocodile tears of pain. 

 

“Take deep breaths,” he says, and the cigarette in his mouth is no longer desired. With every deep breath of poison he inches closer to join his mother in her distress. 

 

“Take deep breaths,” he repeats. Routine routine routine. He kneels in front of her, silently praying to whatever god there is that she would end up okay. 

 

Her tears slow, but her breathing stays the same, gasping and trying to take in as much air as possible, as if it would run out soon.

 

“I had chest pains all night, couldn't sleep. They've just been getting worse and worse,” she explains in a wavering voice, words almost getting caught in her throat. 

 

“C’mon, Mom. We should get you to the hospital. You're going to be okay. Do you believe me?” Josh asks, not even sure if he believes himself. He stands, holding his hand out to his mom to take. 

 

They abandon the mug of coffee and the burnt out cigarette on the table as she limps towards the front door, her colder hands holding onto Josh's arm for dear life, whimpering with every step. 

 

Josh tosses packs of cigarettes and lighters to the back seat once they're both in his car, noticing the new wave of tears flowing from his mother at the sight. A pang of guilt spreads through Josh's chest as he drives, no doubt over the speed limit, one hand grasping the steering wheel and offering the other over the car console for his mother to squeeze in time with her pains. 

 

The red sign is an all too common sight. It's big letters of “EMERGENCY” being seen from a mile away but their car pulls up next to it much too soon. Josh parks in front of the automatic doors, turning the key and helping his mother out after himself. She stumbles through the doorway, a receptionist smiling at the pair despite their current situation. 

 

Josh explains quickly, wanting nothing more than to let his mother's shaking frame sit in the waiting room. She holds out her wrist, trembling just as much as the rest of her body as the receptionist secures a wristband around it. The waiting room is dull and cold, filled with people of every age. Some old men and women in the same aching situation. A teenager with an awfully empty look in her eyes. A mother cradling her baby, stroking her thumb along it's soft arm and cooing quietly. The child turns his head to admire the new people, a curious look in his eyes that reminds you of his young innocence, not yet being exposed to the harsh environment that is white linoleum floors and copious amounts of hand sanitizer. 

 

“Laura?” someone calls from an open door. A nurse, taking in his mom’s condition and quickly walking over to support her. They sit in a small doctors office. Height, weight, blood pressure, temperature. Routine, routine, routine. 

 

His mother’s face is solemn, tears long dried as she’s pushed down the halls in a creaky wheelchair, Josh following not far behind. The nurse eases her onto the bed behind the door of room 21. Everything is white, smelling too sanitary and fresh. The light fixtures on the ceiling flicker and the machines buzz to life after needles are poked into arms and electrodes are stuck to skin. The beeping is steady and uncomfortable. One should never have to hear the sounds of a heart monitor as many times as Josh has in his life. They slow with his mother's shallow breaths and quicken with the slightest of movements.

 

It's an ugly scene. There's no other word to accurately describe the emotion and sight of his mom fighting for her life on a thin mattress, covered with two cheap blankets and wincing in pain, fluid being pumped into her veins and wires poking out from her papery gown. There is reassuring look in her eyes despite not knowing if she'll ever make it back out of this room. 

 

Another cheap blanket is held out to Josh as he sits in the single plastic chair next to the bed and monitors. The nurse, who looks to be around the same age as Josh, has the same reassuring glaze over his eyes, something that's easy to fake if you're the one working in an emergency room. The redhead shakes his head, refusing the thin cloth and pointing to the foot of the bed. The nurse places it there, giving a nod and repeating the same words Josh has heard countless times before. 

 

“Use the red button on the remote if you need anything.” 

 

And he leaves, sitting behind a computer and resuming his work. That's all this is. Work. 

 

Josh pulls the blanket over his mom's shoulders before pressing his lips to her forehead, her eyes closing and the steady beeps getting slower. 

  
  



	14. quatorze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Dark Light - Florist

( **_start song)_ **

 

With every day that passes by, the weight of Tyler's stress grows heavier upon his shoulders, holding him down in a constant reminder that there's no possible way he can live at Jenna's forever. And with every passing night, the light purple aura under Jenna’s eyes darkens, sleep fighting to overpower her as she drives to and from the convenience store four times a night, despite Tyler's protests.

 

_ “You don't need to drive me to my job, Jen. I can manage the walk,” He insists.  _

 

_ “I can't have you walking home at three a.m!” Jenna exclaims, and Tyler sighs, knowing well that the blonde won't change her mind.  _

 

Along with the stress and burden of finding a place to stay comes the emotions of others that rub off onto him, sticking with him like glue. Thoughts of  _ what if Jenna's annoyed by me  _ and  _ what if her parents hate me  _ scatter around in his mind like weeds, roots growing deep and spreading onto every surface of his life.  _ What if, what if, what if.  _

 

It's only a week before Tyler thinks his worries are true, when he hears the soft murmur of voices from the kitchen as he lounges on a pink bean bag chair in the dusty corner of Jenna’s room. The voices are hushed, with unintelligible words yet the brunet knows exactly what the topic of conversation is. The soft patter of socked feet bound up the stairs and through the narrow hallway, growing in volume as they approach closer. Accompanying the socked feet are wringing hands and solemn eyes, belonging to the usually optimistic blonde bumping her shoulder on the door frame. 

 

“My parents are being weird,” She finally says, eyes trained on the ground and a hint of annoyance in her voice. 

 

“Oh,” is Tyler's response, anticipating the outcome of this from the moment he arrived one week ago. 

 

“I think they might want you to leave soon. I told them vaguely why you're here in the first place but they're being stubborn,” She continues, sitting cross legged on the bed and toying with the necklace draped around her neck. 

 

Tyler briefly considers his options. “Okay, I'll figure something out,” He says with an uncertain nod.

-

“Figuring something out” turns out to be scrolling through the few contacts on his phone for longer than needed. Swiping his finger up and down, scanning the names of people he either doesn't want to talk to (hint: the contacts titled “Mom” and “Dad”) or the people who most likely wouldn't remember his face if they met on the street. Acquaintances from high school, Jenna, even the local pizza places, but the scrolling stops at one particular name.  _ Josh,  _ the contact reads. Not paired with any other information other than the ten digit number that had graced his phone not long ago. 

 

Weighing the options, Tyler decides to consult Jenna, who seems to be wrapped up in her own phone, leaning back on her bed with her tongue between her teeth, wispy hair fanning out around her head. 

 

“I don't really have any friends that would let me crash at their place for a bit. My only stable contacts are you and my parents,” he says with a sigh, preparing for the worst out of this situation. 

 

“And why isn't Josh included in these possible contacts?” She questions, abandoning her phone and cocking an eyebrow in Tyler's direction. 

 

To this, he shrugs, letting his nerves get the best of him. Jenna's stare doesn't falter, giving a look that says “ _ Really? If you want him, you have to go get him,”  _ and the rational side of Tyler couldn't agree more. The side of Tyler filled with anxiety and fear couldn't agree less. The weights on his shoulders grow heavier. 

 

The blonde reaches towards Tyler, grasping at air in the direction of his phone. He retaliates, pulling the device closer to his chest, almost cuddling the thing.

 

“If you don't text him I will,” Jenna warns in a sing-songy voice, and Tyler huffs in defeat, opening the messaging app and tapping Josh’s name. 

 

“Jen, what do I even say?” Tyler frets, dropping his phone on the bean bag with a thud. His nails find their way in between his teeth, a bad habit to kick. 

 

“How about start with  _ ‘hey’  _ and go from there,” she says with ease, clearly having a better grip on the concept of texting.

 

**_Tyler Joseph:_ **

**_hi_ **

Sent at 2:13 p.m.

 

The response comes almost immediately, with the three gray dots bubbling up in the corner of the screen the second the text sends. 

 

**_Josh Dun:_ **

**_hey_ **

Received at 2:14 p.m.

 

“He said ‘hey.’ What now?” Tyler asks, looking to Jenna for help.

 

She thinks for a minute, chin resting on her hand and her tongue between her teeth once again. “How about you just straight up tell him you need a place to stay at?” She decides.

 

“What?! Jen, I’m not like that,” Tyler almost stutters, earning the same challenging look from the blonde as before. “Fine,” he concludes, tapping the screen and deciding how to word his response.

 

**_Tyler Joseph:_ **

**_is there any chance I can crash at your place for a bit?_ **

Sent at 2:17 p.m.

 

**_Josh Dun:_ **

**_should be okay. my mom is in the hospital anyway so it's kinda lonely here. lol._ **

Received at 2:18 p.m.

 

Tyler almost stands up to do a happy dance at the sight of the text, feelings of both relief and anxiety looming over him. Relief that the day he reunites with his parents is postponed once again, but nerves sit still in the back of his mind at the realization that he'd most likely be spending more than one night in the presence of Josh. His crush blooms further, once being dull and lifeless, now brightening and growing with every thought of the red haired man like a bouquet of roses. 

 

Another text comes through on his phone, accompanied by a  _ ding _ similar to the chime of the door at the convenience store, and a harsh buzz that startles him out of his Josh-induced daze. 

 

**_Josh Dun:_ **

**_u know my address. cya_ **

Received at 2:23 p.m. 


	15. quinze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Clouds - Børns

**_(start song)_ **

 

“Have you ever gotten high before?” Josh asks, cigarette settled between his fingers, finding it's home between his index and middle. 

 

Tyler's shoulders tense under the gaze of the other man, shaking his head with uncertainty. Josh chuckles, amusement coming from deep in his chest followed by bittersweet coughs. Their skin prickles with goosebumps, waves of cool air flowing in through the cracked window over their roughening skin, flowing back out into the night sky along with smoke pouring out from Josh's parted lips. 

 

“D’ya wanna?” Josh questions again, flicking ashes into the tray settled on the window sill.

 

“Uh, I’ve never-”

 

“I'll teach ya.” 

 

“Okay,” Tyler's words trip over themselves before settling on the one syllable response. “When in Rome,” he adds, the audibility vacant. The remark floats through the window screen. He watches as Josh retrieves a box, painted over and drawn on with thick black marker. An art project. Along with the box comes a foreign object to tyler, found pushed to the back of the bedside drawer but now settled between Josh's calloused hands.

 

“I've had it since I was in middle school,” Josh says before pressing the cherry end of his cigarette into the ash coated bowl, digging it into the mess. 

 

“Hm?” Tyler's eyebrows raise, as well as his posture, glancing over to where Josh’s fingers tear apart pieces of every shade of green. 

 

“My pipe. I stole it from my friend who screwed me over. It still feels kinda good to know I got my revenge.” 

 

“Oh,” Is all the brunet says. He watches the tips of the other man's fingers, the purple and green veins protruding along his forearms, the way he captures his tongue between his teeth in concentration, reminiscent to a certain blonde haired girl. 

 

Green, weed,  _ the stuff his parents always warned him about _ , is packed neatly into the tinted glass. With Josh picking out short stems and the occasional seed, Tyler feels the unfamiliar feeling of ease. As if he would submit and believe anything the fiery haired man has to tell him.

 

Said man presses his thumb down on the packed bowl, looking up at Tyler expectantly.

 

“I don't expect you to want to take the first hit,” Josh says.

 

Tyler shakes his head. 

 

Josh flicks his lighter to life, flames erupting, being quickly silenced by the first smooth inhale. Breath is held in, both pairs of lungs at a stand still for different reasons. When Josh exhales, Tyler follows, releasing his lungs from their nervous cage and taking in the sour, smoke filled air around him. Josh nods.

 

“Ready?” He holds the bowl towards the other boy, who takes it with inexperienced hands.

 

“I might need some help.”

 

Josh crawls on his knees to sit closer to the brunet, the close proximity igniting a blush on the tops of their cheeks. Their heat bounces off each other, growing with every soft brush of a knee or arm. 

 

“So you just hold it like this,” Josh positions the pipe in softer hands, nudging Tyler's index finger over the opening next to the bowl.

 

With a glance out the window, Tyler makes out the shape of a glowing crescent beyond the harshly painted tree branches low in the sky. Not dissimilar to the sky, he looks at the bowl, the charred fraction of marijuana leaves behind just a sliver of green. The moon. 

 

“When I light it, make sure to inhale kind of hard. Then when I finish lighting it take your finger off the carb and keep inhaling,” Josh instructs, motioning to the hole currently covered by a trembling fingertip. Tyler nods. “And if you don't hesitate, you won't cough.” 

 

He hesitates. 

 

The first hit is always the hardest. He coughs up his own lungs and tears begin to surface, threatening to fall with the next hacking punch to his lungs. The smoke returns to the air almost immediately as the burning sensation touches Tyler's throat, and Josh looks on, reminiscing of his first hit.

 

“Hey, it's alright. Watch me this time.” Josh repeats Tyler's actions, sans coughing and sputtering. Instead exhaling the smoke smoothly through his nose and mouth. 

 

Passing the bowl becomes easier, with Josh lighting it every time, Tyler getting better with every hit, both from the experience and the amount of THC settling into every nook and cranny of both their minds. Smiles plaster themselves on their faces as the heat of their closeness doesn't affect them anymore.

 

“Dude, I'm so high,” Tyler says, his voice dropping half an octave. The words sound closer together than before. His eyes struggle to stay open fully, red blood vessels prominent and pupils blown. 

 

Josh chuckles. “Yeah.” 

 

Drags of thick smoke become thinner, and the burning sensation ensues as the bowl grows darker. Light green being replaced with dark grays and blacks. Josh's tolerance holds him back, watching fondly as the lightweight brunet bubbles with excitement at the new feeling of intoxication. His own fingers fumble with packing the second bowl, Tyler being off in his own world filled with heightened senses and the newfound fascination with flicking the lighter over and over. 

 

“Can try to light it?” Tyler pauses, glancing towards the ceiling in awe of absolutely nothing, before continuing his thought. “Like, on my own this time?” 

 

“Sure.”

 

“Yay!” The smile that lights up on his face could possibly outshine the light displays on christmas. Possibly the sun.

 

The feeling of fire touching the tip of his thumb quickly overpowers Tyler's enthusiasm. Furrowing his eyebrows in concentration as he presses the bowl to his reddened lips. Flick, inhale, nothing. The process repeats until the soft crackling is heard, followed by the first plumes of smoke produced by Tyler, and Tyler alone. He nods proudly, humming around the mouth piece to grab Josh's attention, who had been watching the entire time. 

 

“I did it!” The words come out along with gray smoke of accomplishment between crooked teeth. 

 

Josh smiles. His face hurts.

 

“Just wait ‘til the munchies hit.” The grin hasn't left the older man's face since it got there.

 

Tyler's eyes widen, “Dude! Food would be so good right now.” 

 

He stands, losing his balance momentarily and falling back to sitting on the bed. He tries again with wobbly knees, the ground feeling as if it would tip. 

 

Only then does Josh turn around and bend his own knees, far less wobbly but instead motioning for Tyler to jump up on his back. Piggy back.

 

He does, wrapping his thin, scarred arms lightly around Josh's neck. His feet off the floor, tangling themselves around Josh's torso as he buries his nose in shoulder blades and inhales. The intoxicatingly familiar scent of tobacco and weed and something sweet. They stumble together into the kitchen, with Tyler using his free hand to open cabinet upon cabinet, fridge and freezer. Coming up empty. With only cereal boxes filled with dust and the occasional  _ real  _ food, food that's beyond their cooking capabilities in their high minds. 

 

“We'll have to go to the store,” Josh's voice sends vibrations along every part of their close bodies, hoisting the brunet higher up on his back and attempting to run as fast as his legs will allow him with Tyler’s feather light weight, all the way back to the smoky room. Tyler screams in joy and fear. Dismounting abruptly but landing softly on crumb coated sheets. 

 

They fall asleep with heavy breaths, dreams beginning to swirl around their minds before their heads even touch the pillow. 

 

 


	16. seize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song: Vampire Banquet - Fox Academy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait, i was very unmotivated and busy at tour de columbus! but im back now. hi.

**_(start song)_ **

 

The terrifying liminal space known to many as Walmart comes into view as they drive down the freeway.

 

The window is cracked, providing enough room for cigarette smoke to dissipate and escape but sending a harsh chill down Tyler's spine. Goosebumps raise. The radio gets louder.

 

“Wait. Turn that down so I can find a parking spot,” Josh says, eyebrows furrowed and posture straightened to give him a better view of the vast rows of cars.

 

Tyler chuckles, “You need the  _ volume  _ down so you can  _ see? _ ” 

 

“Shut up.”

 

Another airy giggle. 

-

As the automatic doors slide open, a blast of air fans over the two, Tyler crosses his arms, rubbing up and down in an attempt to soothe his skin from the autumn chill. 

 

“I have an idea,” He says, grasping the edge of one of the blue carts pushed together in rows, a devilish grin spreading across his face. 

 

With one foot planted semi-firmly on the ground, Tyler swings the other over the hard plastic, taking note of the sign directly in front of him.

 

**_For your safety, please do not ride in the cart._ **

 

The metal basket, the folded up, built in baby holder digs into his back as he's pushed past displays of two liter sodas, cookies, a sale on socks. 

 

Every cheap food imaginable to two college aged boys finds its way into the cart, a large bottle of pepsi settled in Tyler's lap with boxes of cereal and macaroni surrounding him. Josh hands off groceries, the brunet organizes them in the large basket, he balances a package of paper towels between the two edges of the cart. His back still hurts. 

 

The solution is to turn around as carefully as possible, knocking over a can stacked on top of another can and hearing the creak of the wheels still rolling down aisle after aisle. Josh sticks his tongue out towards Tyler, who now faces him in his free chauffeur ride around Walmart. Wandering eyes and disapproving scowls from old ladies and fed up employees go unnoticed as Josh pushes Tyler in their own little world. 

 

The familiar smell of the beauty aisle creeps into their noses as they pass by, the scent of every soap, cheap perfume, and makeup swirled together in the most unpleasant way. 

 

**_Shampoo_ **

 

**_Cosmetics_ **

 

**_Hair Dye_ **

 

“Josh.”

 

“Hm?” The man pushing the cart perks up from his concentration on finding more food.

 

“We should dye your hair,” Tyler states, eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth turned up in a hopeful smile.

 

Josh sighs, remembering the dye stained towels and red tinted ears that stay for days. The boy sitting in front of him wavers his decision, the excitement radiating from Tyler proving to be too much to say no.

 

He turns the cart into the beauty scented fumes, admiring the shades of blonde, black, brown. The rainbow of colors sits secluded at the end, being the least popular of the hair dyes but exactly what the two are looking for.

 

“Purple?” Tyler suggests.

 

“Did that last time,” Josh shoots down.

 

“Blue?” 

 

“That stuff never washes out.”

 

“Pink?” 

 

“I get pink when this fades.” Josh points to his own vibrant hair peeking out from the snapback on his head.

 

“What about this?” Tyler reaches out of the cart to point at the yellow package. Not blonde. Yellow. The most vibrant, highlighter yellow. It hurt to look at but the inevitable disappointed look on Tyler's face would hurt more if Josh says no. 

 

Josh crosses his arms and tries his best to scowl, the underlying smirk showing through, his jokingly difficult manner only spurs Tyler on. The brunet’s smile grows mischievous, slowly inching his hand closer to the box of dye while maintaining teasing eye contact with Josh. 

 

“Toss it in,” is all he needs to hear, practically standing up in the cart to grasp the dye, erupting into a fit of giggles in the process as Josh leaves momentarily to retrieve bleach powder.

 

The bleach, being from Walmart, will no doubt damage Josh's hair far worse than any other substance, but the thought of it seems perfect as long as Tyler is happy. He suppresses his smile in his sleeve. 

 

_ Don't get attached. _

_ - _

The bleach burns, it burns as much as it should. Tyler's eyes never leave the mess of Josh's hair as he paints it white, carefully avoiding the trim, dark locks on the sides, kept in it’s natural brown state. 

 

“Does it hurt? It smells like it hurts,” the brunet asks. Their eyes meet in the smudged mirror mounted on the wall in front of them. Josh nods. Tyler flinches as the motion almost paints a thick stripe of white where it shouldn't be.

-

“Okay. We have to wait about twenty-five minutes now,” Tyler says, carefully removing latex gloves covering his hands while squinting at the fine writing on the package of bleach. 

 

“What do you want to do?” There is a Walmart bag tied around Josh's head, the plastic crinkling with every word that shapes his face and leaves his lips. “Don't you play ukulele?” He crinkles.

 

“I know a bit, I'm not very good.”

 

“Let's see,” Josh stands up from his seat, the toilet, in the bathroom. 

-

Soft brown eyes burn holes in Tyler's hands as they strum softly over the instrument’s strings, aimless chords and patterns coming together to make a mindless song without a beginning, middle, or end. They sit cross legged, ukulele resting in Tyler's lap, folded arms in Josh's with his hands resting on skin laced with goosebumps. The tips of his fingers trace over irregular textures and every swirl of color as he listens to the improvised song Tyler creates. 

 

The strumming stops. Soft brown eyes meet, looking for approval. 

 

“Do you know any songs?” Josh asks.

 

“I know one.” He knows two. 

 

“What is it?” 

 

A pause. An internal debate over how much of himself he wanted to hand over to Josh. “My own song,” he says, collecting the lyrics and chords inside his head. 

 

“Can I hear?” Josh questions again. 

 

Another pause. “Okay. But don't say anything,” Tyler concludes, adjusting the instrument in his lap and training his eyes on a loose string on his jeans. 

 

_ “I do not know why I would go _

_ In front of you and hide my soul _

_ Cause you're the only one who knows it _

_ Yeah, you're the only one who knows it,” _ he begins. 

 

His fingertips strum methodically along with his wavering voice, new to the presence of another person taking in something he's created. He doesn't dare look up. 

 

Tyler's voice grows into the song as it progresses, losing the raspy undertone for smoother notes, loosening up in Josh's gaze. When it ends, his fingertips remain rested on the strings, searching for the same feeling of ease that music gives him, now replaced with the fear of judgment. Josh doesn't dare speak. 

-

The box reads  _ “Steal My Sunshine,” _ its contents slathered on Josh's damaged faux hawk, seeping into the color deprived roots and turning them a brilliant shade of yellow. 

 

The timer goes off from the next room over, muffled under bedsheets, Tyler finds his phone buried in the mess of the bed. 

 

“Alright  _ Sunshine,  _ time to wash your hair!” He calls into the bathroom, stopping next to the doorway, a thin wall hiding Tyler's reddened cheeks. His face grows hot hearing the spontaneous nickname outloud. 

 

“ _ Sunshine _ ?” Questions Josh, seated on the closed toilet seat behind the wall. 

 

“Time’s up,” Tyler calls again. He presses his cold fingertips to his cheeks. 

-

The brilliant, highlighter yellow seeps down the drain along with stray hairs of the same hue, washing down with fresh smelling soap. Josh's back strains to support his head under the bath faucet, water spraying on his face and neck, skin stained with dye. The water stops. Tyler hands over a towel, also stained with every color of the rainbow, the fabric fraying at the edges and discolored with bleach. 

 

_ “ _ Special hair dye towel?” Tyler wonders.

 

Josh nods, the towel draped over his head and shoulders like a ghost. A tye dye ghost.

-

That night, Josh brands his pillow case with new hair, blotches of yellow and a pool of drool from the corner of his mouth. 

 

Tyler stares at the pitch black ceiling, songs of shopping carts, ukuleles, and bright suns fill his thoughts as the breathing next to him evens out, as Josh's warm body gravitates closer and closer to his own. 

 

“Night, Sunshine,” he whispers.

 

Josh doesn't hear. 

 

 

 


End file.
